Just in case you didn’t know, let me tell you that an international cricket match at the Providence Stadium, like the recent Trinidad/Guyana one-day, is an experience not to be missed. I played with Tradewinds at the Stadium during Carifesta, and, while I enjoyed that experience, to be there as a spectator was an even sweeter one.
I don’t know what the vibe was like in the rest of the stadium, but in the north-west stand it was humming from the start. Cricket has this magical hold on Caribbean people (I’ve written some songs about it) and it was there in the stadium that day. Cricket blood was in everybody’s veins that afternoon, and it struck me that an alert video cameraman, patrolling the place, could have produced an engrossing documentary on the game by ignoring the field completely and focusing on the stands.
It really was like watching scenes from a film.
The unusual garb as in the vendor with a flowing Cell-Link cape, like Superman in blue; the stand-alone approach of the lone Trini supporter, three rows in front of me, in his red-and-black shirt, and very vociferous about his loyalty. When Sarwan was run out, the Trini supporter ran up and down the stadium steps in celebration; total joy on two feet.
The man stood up, punching the air, he one, with Guyanese fans all around; that’s bravery, and the agent was cricket.
All around you are friendly and not-so-friendly arguments that can start in one row, and then leap across like a grass fire, as somebody several rows back, hears the contentions and jumps up to offer his view, loud enough for the umpire to hear, and the gaff spreads. Sometimes, a comical comment, made from one friend to another, is picked up and relayed, row after row, like ripples in a lake. And in the Guyanese fashion, everything gets a label: the Trini supporter, with his Sikh headwear, naturally got teased as “Harbajhan”.
Inevitably, if the game is close, some of the arguments become financial. At Providence, there was the noisy spectacle of two intense gentlemen (more or less) stretching to full height, differing on which team would win, “alright, le’ we bet”, and a third fellow, looking partly stunned and partly delighted, stuffing the money for the wager in his pocket.
As in cricket everywhere, food and drink is there big time. Some come with fairly elaborate baskets (I saw curry and roti; metagee; fried fish), some with very potent drinks (a man in front of me offered a Carib), and for those who didn’t bring food, the vendors fill the gap, each with a distinctive style.
And what an array: the Cell-Link guy proclaiming “all who gat money”; a capped vendor, saying very little, and stewpsing when people didn’t buy; the black pudding lady, walking the perimeter, bold and bradar; and one of the younger vendors – most of them understandably are skinny – strolling up the steps declaring, “ah now come; ah now come” as if he had fans awaiting; perhaps he did.
A warming moment for me was the strains of “Not A Blade O’ Grass” wafting over the sound system as the Guyana team came to bat, and voices in the stands joining in at the chorus. I was tempted to stand up and conduct; next time, I will.
The deliberations on the game are immediate and gripping and continue even after the game ends. Exiting the stadium, people will pick up on a passing comment and hold thoughtful conversations on what took place on the field. People of all stripes, they are complete strangers, not likely to see each other again, but there they are conversing like old friends – cricket is the agent.
The critics were certainly out when our stadium was being built, but it stands today as something we should be proud of. As one of those who prophesied that these World Cup grounds would deteriorate, I have to admit that Providence proves me wrong. Although we appear to need some work on the pitch, the field is immaculate – sometimes it looks like they’re playing on an enormous billiard table – and the seating areas and walkways are clean and well maintained. Considering a sold-out crowd like that, I was surprised how tidy the washrooms were. Even the bolts on the doors worked.
Mind you, there is room for some fine tuning. We should have standard sizes for sponsor signs – this is our national stadium and the field perimeter should look professional, not like a clearance sale – and in particular, the vertical banners should come down; erected right in front of the seating areas they often block your view. Also, the ground crew should be professionally dressed. Even a simple T-shirt, with “Providence” emblazoned on the back is preferable to the melee we now present. And the public address presentation should offer less of the outdated sound effects (zoops; woowoowoos; wong-wongs; etc) and more pertinent information on the game itself – who’s coming next; run rates; records being approached; etc. In the overall, apart perhaps from the pitch, those things can be fixed virtually overnight, at very little or no cost, and the effect, particularly visually, will be immediate and positive.
That aside, going to Providence is a joy. Certainly, because cricket itself can be thrilling (like the shortened game at Bourda a few years ago when Shiv made 80 and we beat England; wild celebration) but also because in that lovely bowl, in the course of a one-day game, you are neck deep in the cultural mix that is Guyana. It’s all there: the sounds, the behaviours, the characters, the bravado, the multi-ethnic mix, the exchanges between complete strangers, and, most of all, the sense of humour.
There is a line by the famous writer C. L. R. James that goes “What do they know of cricket, who only cricket know?” If you’re not sure what CLR meant, go to an international cricket game at Providence when the Guyanese are out in force; it will become clear.